Winter Birds
by a Fox and a Fawn
Summary: A lonely and broken Hermione finds comfort in the arms of an old enemy. Inspired by 'Winter Birds' by Ray LaMontagne.


**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely none of these characters, merely the idea behind the story. All of the characters, as we all well know, belong to the wonderful genius that is J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note (One):** I recommend downloading the song '_Winter Birds_' by Ray LaMontagne to go along with this story as it inspired it completely. The song adds to the feel of the story, but with or without the song I hope you enjoy! (I'll have another note after the story; I just don't want to clog this space up.)

_It's the Widow now that owns that angry plow, _

_The spartan Mule and The Crippled Cow _

_The fallow field that will yield no more, _

_As the fox lay sleeping beneath her kitchen floor _

The door broke open roughly, swinging on its hinges and hitting the wall it was attached to. She walked backwards as his body advanced on hers before finally reaching the welcome barrier of a wall. With one hand he encased both of her wrists and brought her arms above her head, pinning them to the wall as his lips and teeth continued to assault her neck. A moan escaped her lips and his hips rolled, grinding into her and eliciting another. He released her wrists and sent his hands on a journey down her body before stopping at her rear and lifting her, enticing her to place her legs around his waist. She happily obliged.

The perverse laugh that slipped from her mouth as he carried her to the bedroom was muffled in the crook of his neck. A fleeting pain shot through him—he never knew if her laughs were real or not. Ignoring the thought, he pushed the woman onto the bed. Another moan. She sat up as he crawled on top of her and pulled her top over her head, revealing nothing underneath. He pushed her back onto the bed and lowered himself towards her, kissing her collarbone and making his way between her breasts before moving to the side. She let out a groan. He growled in response. She was getting frustrated. She pushed him off of her before removing her gray pencil skirt and white lace knickers.

This was how she was. This was how she had been since they had started this little affair. She turned to the nightstand to her right and slammed the picture of her husband face down. He looked down at her, her hair spread out on the pillow and her eyes looking up at him, waiting. Another growl slipped from his throat as he entered her.

_The stream can't contain such the withering rain, _

_And from the pasture the fence it is leaning away _

_The clouds crack and growl _

_Like some great cat on the prowl _

_Crying out, "I am, I am" over and over again _

He winced as he heard another sob escape from her side of the bed. The mattress shook with her body. She thought he was asleep—she always did—but he could never sleep when he was with her. No, he couldn't sleep through those sobs. He knew she was looking at the picture, feeling guilty, wondering what she was doing and what _he_ would think of her.

Their relationship had started out as a mutual form of comfort. After Ron's funeral, Hermione and the rest of the Weasley family had hosted a dinner at the home Hermione had shared with him. It was an old farmhouse, a little run down but simple, in the middle of an open field. He had stayed on his own for most of the dinner, preferring to nurse his firewhiskey sitting in a porch swing outside. He watched as each family passed by, teary eyed, making their way to their cars and wrapping each other in tight hugs before leaving. Their eyes wandered over to him, wondering why Ron's blonde nemesis would show up. Not wanting to give them the slightest resemblance of satisfaction, he stepped inside.

Hermione stood at the sink. She was still in the sleeveless black dress she had worn to the funeral, scrubbing at a stubborn dish that wouldn't come clean. She knew he was there—he had a presence about him that you could feel. The dish dove into the soapy water that filled the sink as she covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with the sobs he would come to know all too well. He rushed over to the sink and turned her around, her back bending slightly where it met the counter. His lips met hers, fiercely at first but fading into gentleness.

Maybe he had taken advantage of her. Maybe he was wrong. But, he reasoned, he was a Malfoy.

He rolled over to face her, watching as she tried to force her trembling body to stop. Placing an arm around her naked waist, he pulled her towards him. For the first time since the day of the funeral, Hermione let him see her cry. She didn't try to fight it or push it away—she embraced it and let the sobs take her over. His arm tightened around her as he buried his face in her hair, softly kissing the top of her head.

_The days grow short _

_As the nights grow long _

_The kettle sings its tortured song _

_As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow, _

_Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now _

He watched as she rose from the bed, white sheet wrapped around her waist, and made her way to the shower. Staring at the ceiling with his hands propped behind his head, he felt it again. The rapid heartbeat followed by the lump in his throat. He moved to his side where he could still see the figure of Hermione Granger through the cracked bathroom door. The sheet had fallen to the floor and she ran her fingers through her hair, allowing it to fall and cascade down her back. This is what he hadn't been able to stop thinking about for two years. This is what he planned his life around.

Her breathing, sometimes drifting into soft snore, is what lulled him to sleep at night. He couldn't imagine not waking up to that soft peppermint and berry smell that he had grown accustomed to. He couldn't call this house his home, but it was where he spent his life—his life with her. He groaned. Draco had never thought a situation like this was possible. He was angry with himself for allowing it to happen and angry with her for not allowing it to develop further, not that he had ever mentioned it. Hermione didn't know that their arrangement had deepened. Outwardly, nothing had changed. It was impossible for her to know that Draco had made the biggest mistake one in their situation could make. He had fallen in love with her.

He stood from the bed and made his way over to the bathroom door, opening it slightly more with his foot and leaning against its frame. Her eyes met his in the mirror, tears welling within them. Stepping forward he placed his slender hands on her hips and turned her body to face him. The tears were escaping—a term she would use, angry that she had let her control slip in front of him. His lips met each tear as they fell, disappearing at the touch.

_The winter birds have come back again, _

_Here the sprightly Chickadee _

_Gone now is the Willow Wren _

_In passing greet each other as if old, old friends _

_And to the voiceless trees _

_It is their own they will lend _

Three more months had passed, the cold winter being replaced by newly blossomed flowers and trees impregnated with the buds of future leaves. Three more months full of nights with her—nights that only they knew about. Sleep was coming less and less to Draco. Hermione didn't cry as often anymore, but it wasn't much of a comfort. She didn't do much of anything anymore. He held back the urge to yell at her, to shake her, to force the Hermione he had known long before Ron had died to come out of hiding.

He was lying on the couch, his feet resting on its arm and a coffee table separating the piece of furniture from the fireplace. Hermione sat in an armchair place at his feet. A small end table sat between them, holding the lamp that shone light on the book resting in Hermione's hands. It had felt like this all winter; like a slow cool down to their romance. The feeling that they were drifting apart tore at Draco, at times almost feeling like a physical pain. He hadn't yet told her he loved her; afraid that their affair was still a mere comfort for her or that, on the other hand, she may just feel the same. She allowed her guilt to outweigh her want for happiness. Ron had been the love of her life and her logic told her that was all she was to have—she was supposed to be the grieving widow for the rest of her life.

A sigh escaped his lips as he stretched his leg toward her and ran his sock-clad toes across her forearm.

_The days grow short _

_As the nights grow long _

_The kettle sings its tortured song _

_A many petalled kiss I place upon her brow, _

_Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now _

"That tickles," she whispered, the hint of a giggle hidden underneath her voice. She turned to him and smiled before returning her eyes to her book. Her arm stretched the distance between their bodies and slid underneath his pant leg, softly caressing his leg.

Draco's pulse quickened as his breath stopped in his throat. A smile was the greatest amount of emotion she had afforded him since the skies had turned that snow-laden shade of gray. He sat up, staring at her for a moment before taking her hand in his and pulling her body towards him. He pulled her body to sit on the couch next to him and brought his pale right hand to her right cheek. It rested in that spot for a moment before slipping behind her neck and digging its way into her hair. She looked down at his chest, that familiar throb of guilt housing itself in her stomach. His left hand grasped her chin, bringing her attention back to his eyes.

In the last few months the pricks of guilt that inhabited her had been fighting with another feeling—happiness. But the greater amount of room the happiness took up the more the pangs of guilt would grow, waging a war in her brain _and _her heart. She had begun to shut down, not wanting to deal with the number of emotions she was feeling. The cries that had once belonged to just one man were offering ownership to another. Both the happiness and the guilt had made room for one more guest: fear. She was falling for her lover in a way she hadn't anticipated. Her fear didn't stem directly from thoughts that he would reject her—she was quite certain that his staying with her nearly every night for over two years meant she didn't have to worry when it came to that—but a fear of where this relationship would go. The thought of it being common knowledge, and the thought of the gossip and the judgment she would have to endure, almost equaled the fear she had held for the Dark Lord himself.

_And though all these things will change, _

_The memories will remain _

_As green to gold, and gold to brown _

_The leaves will fall to feed the ground _

_And in their falling, make no sound _

_Oh my lady, _

_Lady I am loving you now _

"Hermione," Draco whispered in her ear, his left arm wrapped around her waist, "I need more."

She shut her eyes, but willing away the tears wasn't going to work. "But… you knew what this was. It was just…"

"A comfort," he interrupted. "You're right. That's what it _was._ But that's not what it _has to be!_"

His voice highlighted his frustration through clenched teeth as he untangled their bodies and sat at the edge of the bed. His head sunk down, held in place by his hands before they slipped back through his platinum hair and rested by gripping the edge of the mattress. Hermione's back was turned to him, but even so she could still see the scowl his face had contorted into.

He rose from the bed and walked around it, sitting in front of her form. The moonlight was shining in on her from the window behind her bed. Unable to resist the urge, his hand reached out to remove the strands that had fallen and hid her face. His thumb traced underneath her eye, wiping away a tear, before he moved in closer and gently kissed her lips. He pulled away and rested his back against the thick wooden nightstand, his knees tight to his chest and holding up his arms.

"Hermione, I just want you to be…," he started. "I don't want to make things harder for you. But as much as things have changed, I'm still a Malfoy and I'm still a selfish git. And I want you." He leaned in closer, resting his chin on the mattress in front of her. "I want to show people that this amazing woman actually sees something worthwhile in me. I want—"

"It's not that easy!" she cried, sitting up as he stood and made his way towards the bathroom.

He stopped just short of it before resting his head against the wall beside the door, fists raised above his head. He pushed himself from the wall before punching it.

"Dammit, 'Mione," he yelled, "I just want to show people that I love you! For fucks sake, is it that much to ask?"

Her sobs had drifted into the most violent sounds he had ever heard from her and he instantly felt guilty for having brought up the subject at all. Sitting on the bed beside her, he encased her with his arms and rocked back and forth in barely detectable motions. Her body shook his with each sob, sobs that sounded like a mixture of groans and gasps for air. His right hand ran its way through her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

Fifteen minutes later the sobs had quieted. As she moved her head to lie in the crook of his neck she whispered, "You're right, Draco. I've been trying," another gasp, "to fight whatever is going on," gasp, "inside of me."

She paused, taking time to gasp in more air, before continuing. "I want _us_, too. I want people to see you the way I do… I'm just terrified that people will look past that and only see the scandal or something new to gossip about. I'm scared it will do Ron's name an injustice."

"'Mione, no," he groaned, kissing the top of her head. "Weasley and I never got on well, but you Gryffindors are bloody virtuous. Far more than I. He would have wanted you—"

"To be happy, I know," she whispered. "I know, Draco. I'll try. I will. That's all I can do."

"That's all you can do," he repeated.

_I've gathered all my money and I'm goin' to town, _

_To buy my lady a long and flowing gown _

_'Cause come tomorrow morning _

_We're off to the county fair _

_I'll find a yellow flower _

_And I will lace it in her hair_

Draco stood on _their_ porch—the porch of the house they had shared for the past two and a half years. The wind blew the tall grass of the fields that surrounded the property, making its way underneath the eve of the home and through his hair. The tree at the end of the walkway that led to the porch rustled in the wind, full of lively green leaves. Behind its large trunk he spied the hem of her dress, barely dragging the ground, before it disappeared and the body it hung on emerged on the other side.

A gust of wind pulled up dirt from the walkway, gathering into a cloud at her hidden feet as she walked towards him. His breath caught in his throat at the first glimpse he got of her. The vintage gown she wore had been her grandmother's. The lace sleeves stopped at her elbows, the boatneck collar revealing her décolletage and the lace bust ending with a satin ribbon at her waist. Her hair was up in a messy bun—Hermione hadn't bothered with it much—and was adorned with a large yellow rose. The bouquet she held with both hands was comprised mostly of baby's breath, her favorite flower, accompanied by only three matching yellow roses.

"Beautiful," Draco whispered. He had taken in, but hardly noticed, the dress or the accessories. The most striking thing about Hermione today was her smile. It was the kind of smile that reached her eyes—the eyes that were looking only at him.

She made her way up the stairs, her left hand grabbing Draco's, before turning to the man at Draco's side and enveloping him with her right arm.

"Harry, thank you so much for being here," she whispered, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"You deserve this," he replied, his arms gripping her tightly. He released her and gave her a peck on the cheek.

She turned to the people on the other side of her—their, she corrected herself—porch. Her parents, long ago freed from the Obliviate curse, stood closest to the couple. Her mom's face was hidden by a handkerchief, her dad's arms wrapped around his wife's shoulders. Luna and Neville, the only two of her former friends that had arrived for the ceremony, stood leaning against the railing of the porch. They both smiled at her—sincere smiles, the kind that made her realize how lucky she was to have them in her life once again. She quickly wiped her eyes before turning around to face her very soon-to-be husband.

"I love you," she mouthed towards him.

The judge began, "Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to celebrate…"

**Author's Note (Two):** As a second disclaimer to this story I would just like to say that I haven't written anything that wasn't school related in over a year, so I apologize if this story isn't up to par. I am writing another DraMione fic right now but writer's block has slapped me in the face. Ray LaMontagne has inspired a great deal of that story, too, and while I was listening to him the song '_Winter Birds'_ came on and the idea for the story jumped out at me. So to try to cure my writer's block for that story, I wrote this story.

And just so everyone knows, I don't hate Ron/Hermione. While watching '_Deathly Hallow Pt. 1'_ I finally saw the chemistry the two characters have and I'm starting to ship them as well—it's just a lot harder to write that because J.K. did such a fantastic job of it herself.

Please review! I appreciate anything from constructive criticism, to notes of love for the story, to a mere statement that you read it. Hope you enjoyed!


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